


The Offering

by casbean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon verse, Case Fic, Dean Winchester in Denial, Emotional Baggage, M/M, Pagan Gods, Rimming, Sacrifices, Sexual Offerings, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, almost dubcon except they both secretly very much want it, anyway a angst and misunderstandings ensue, as always, basically dean has to work stuff out, but accepting that isn't easy, mention of past prostitution, yes castiel uses his grace to make lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean
Summary: The case is going fine until Sam calls Cas, because "Dean shouldn't go there alone." There being a mysterious cave which all the victims visited before disappearing.So Dean and Cas head up the mountain together while Sam stays in town, digging into the lore and interviewing witnesses.





	The Offering

 

“Do we know why they came here ?” Castiel asks as they climb up the narrow path along the side of the mountain.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean wipes his forehead as he finally steps into the shadow of cave. The air in there is surprisingly cooler. He blinks a few times to get used to the darkness. “They came here to fuck.”

He can sense the puzzled look Castiel gives him when he stands besides him and doesn’t respond. Instead, Dean moves deeper into the cave, towards something that almost looks like a bed.

“They had intercourse here?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice echoing on stone walls. “Witnesses said couples with all sorts of problems come here and… well, y’know. Apparently, one night in here and everything is solved. Babies popping, old marriages rekindled, infertility cured…”

“It would make sense…” Castiel murmurs. His fingers graze along the walls, brushing over ancient symbols carved in the stone. “This is the den of a divinity, Dean. The work of a pagan god.”

“What?”

“The… sex, must be a type offering. But maybe he or she has gotten more greedy in the last few years. Desiring lives, not just unions.”

“Guessing it happens here,” Dean frowns. He points at the bed-shaped altar. “Think the god’s here right now?”

“I don’t sense anything.”

The light goes out with a bang.

More with a rumble, actually, stones and rocks hurtling down and obstructing the exit before Dean or Cas can make a move.

“Shit! What the Hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel frowns.

“You said you didn’t sense it!”

“I _don’t_. It’s not here. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t know that we are.”

There shouldn’t be any light with the exit blocked, yet everything is lulled in a soft, warm yellow radiance, like the stones themselves are glowing.

“Fuck. Alright. Well - do something," Dean says, gesturing at Cas. "Get us out!”

“I have no wings, Dean,” Castiel reminds him coldly.

“I know, but can’t you like - move this shit?”

“No. It’s - It’s not just rocks. A powerful magic keeps them there.”

Dean leans over and tries to pick up the smallest one that has rolled at his feet. He can’t even budge it one inch.

“Crap!”

He starts to pace around the small space, banging against the walls and shouting at the ceiling.

“Let us out or show your goddamn face, you perverted piece of shit!”

Cas runs his fingers over the writings on the wall again. New letters have appeared, gleaming faintly.

“What the Hell is this?” Dean asks.

“Instructions.”

“It’s sending us on a fucking scavenger hunt?”

“No,” Cas murmurs, very stern. “The demand is actually very simple.”

“Okay. So?”

Cas turns towards Dean and sighs.

“We have to make an offering.”

Dean frowns, waiting for Cas to continue, but he doesn't.

“... an offering? We didn’t bring anything.”

Cas stares at Dean for a whole minute until the lightbulb flashes above his head.

“Wait. No. Are you kidding me?”

“It’s quite clear.”

“It wants us to-?”

“The text asks for an offering of…” Cas turns back towards the symbols and reads them carefully. “ _Sexual union between two or more willing individuals before midnight, to completion, or my hunger shall become so great many will be devoured, so many I shall never stop_.”

“Is that all?”

“There are some footnotes, but-”

"Footnotes?"

Dean's voice has turned into a squeal he doesn't recognize, but Castiel seems unfazed.

"Details on how it has to happen depending on the type of situation and the effects desired."

"The effects desired?"

"Yes. Is our offering for a favour, a gift, a healing, or in our case, simply to appease and escape. The requisites are not all the same."

"Do I want to know?"

"Do you want me to explain to you in detail how intercourse works between two male bodies?"

Dean shakes his head and raises his hands.

"No. Don't-"

He takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Let’s just wait then. We got some time before midnight.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Excuse me?”

“If we don’t - if _it_ doesn’t get an offering , it will kill us and the entire town, Dean.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Uh, yeah. We got Sam. He’s probably - he’s gonna do something.”

Dean fishes his phone out of his pocket and furiously taps on the screen. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.”

“No signal?”

“It’s dead.”

“Not surprising.”

“We got - we can - we can _summon_ it, somehow. I mean - you’re an angel. Do something.”

“I _can’t_. We can’t summon it here without an offering. It won’t come.”

 Dean wonders if Cas knows how dirty that sounded.

“Then we fucking dig our way out of here if we have to. Or - or shoot. Whatever. Blow something, Cas.”

This time it’s Cas who looks at Dean until the hunter’s cheek turn red. “ _Not_ \- Jesus, take your mind out of the fucking gutter.”

As if he's one to talk.

“The magic surrounding us is too powerful, even I cannot break these walls. We can try all night long to blast our way out of here, it won’t work.”

“Well what, then, uh? What exactly do you suggest?”

The silence is heavier than the thousands pounds of mountain they’re currently buried under.

“No.”

“Dean-”

“How can you even - that’s - how can that _god_ even want that? We’re - we’re family, Cas. Brothers. It’s basically incest!”

Castiel crosses his arms, jaw locked tight. “I know you see it that way, but technically, I am an angel of the Lord, and you have no blood relation to my vessel.”

“So what, you’d - you- you want -”

Castiel shakes his head, looking away.

“No. Of course I don’t - _want_ to. You are… family, to me, and family doesn’t do that.” Castiel lets out a deep sigh. “But I don’t want you to die, either. If this is-”

“Who says it’d even work? I mean, it’s a god of - of couples, of fertility, not just - sex. Right? Maybe it just works if it’s a dude and a chick. The normal way. Plus, you’re not even human.”

Castiel squints at him.

“Only humans observe those types of judgement, Dean. This is about union through sexual congress. And if fertility was the only point, an offering would only be possible if a person was successfully impregnated every time. It wouldn’t be very practical. And would have its own loopholes, anyway.”

Dean frantically walks around the room, fingers tracing the markings on the wall, more desperate than ever to find a way out. He is _not_ letting Cas - no. No freaking way.

“The words are very clear,” Cas says, following him with his eyes. “Only the… _completion_ , of both partners, will summon it and open the door. Nothing else.”

“How are we even supposed to kill it if we’re both stark naked and-” Dean is too flustered to finish his sentence. He starts pacing again.

“I suppose we keep our weapons close by.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. That doesn’t-” Dean bangs his head against the stone wall. It hurts, but not enough. Not enough to chase away the thought of- “It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

“We don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

“Why the fuck are you so calm about this? We - we’re being blackmailed into committing gay incest here, Cas!”

Another long suffering eye roll from Castiel.

“If we don’t want us, your brother, and this whole town being eaten in greed by a hungry and powerful God, we need to wrap our heads around this. And quickly. There’s only a couple of hours left and it needs to be… finished.”

Dean hits the wall again, harder this time, until his hands hurt.

“Sonofabitch.”

Cas gives Dean some more time, during which he keeps pacing, kicking, knocking, attempts to dig, and even shoot at the wall, with no other result than almost deafening himself.

Dean finally stops in front of Cas again, and pulls at his collar when he meets the angel's eyes. It's really getting hot in here. No air and all that.

Dean takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the end goal. Saving people. Saving lives. Not letting hundreds of innocents die. 

“Fine. Fine . Does it - Jesus Christ - does it have to be - a - an actual - union?”

Cas squints. Dean  _painfully_ forms a circle with his thumb and index, and uses the forefinger of his other hand to pump in and out of the… hole.

“Oh. Yes.”

“Fuck.”

Cas begins to take off his coat, which is completely indecent. Dude looks so naked with just his suit and this is going way too fast for Dean's poor brain.

“Wow. Dude, slow down.”

“What?”

“Shouldn’t we - we should, um. Decide. Who - who… y’know.” Dean looks up to the invisible sky and sends a silent prayer to anyone _but_ Cas. “Who gives and who receives. Jesus.”

“You can stop using the Lord’s name in vain. And I assumed I would - that _you_ would. Receive.”

Dean takes an immediate step back. “Excuse me? Why the Hell would I do that?”

“Because you’ve done it before. And you enjoy it.”

Dean chokes on his next words.

“I - excuse you - how the fuck -”

“I have rebuilt you atoms by atoms,” Castiel explains, calm as a cucumber whilst Dean is about to rip his own head off. “I know your body. I know everything about you. Well, up until you ordered me to stop reading your thoughts.”

Dean hopes that the unbridled rage he feels in that moment can be perceived through the ice cold glare he shoots at Castiel.

“Well since you can't read my mind anymore, let me spell this out clearly: _you can go fuck yourself_. Figuratively and literally.”

Dean walks away and faces the wall, arms crossed, heart racing in his chest. No. No, that's not happening. No way. Uh-uh. He's going to die right here if he has to.

“Dean-”

“No. Deal’s off. God can eat us both for all I fucking care.”

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong-”

“You got no right knowing - thinking that you know about -” Dean’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. He feels like he's drowning, which is not so far from being buried alive, really.

“I’m sorry. I - I know that for some reason your repress that part of your life very deeply, but right now is not the time to-”

“Go fuck yourself, Cas.”

Dean is still staring at the grey rocks of the mountain.

“I _can’t_. This needs to be - there needs to be two of us. I believe we have more chances of getting out if you are on the receiving end.”

That gets Dean to turn around.

“You just said it was because-”

“Yes. I - but rationally-”

“Rationally sounds like you wanna fuck me,” Dean spits out.

Cas rolls his eyes and throws his hands in the air. “I want to get out of here.”

“And why does my ass gotta be involved?”

“Because you’re the human.” 

“It makes no sense! Where the fuck is it written that the one getting fucked’s gotta be a human, uh? Show me.”

“It - it’s not - that clear. It's in the footnotes. It - it’s about human pleasure, and human fertilization.”

“I’m a dude. You can’t fertilize me.”

“The translation is - it’s not-” Castiel sighs. “It’s not biologically - it uses the word _human_ , when it comes to the one being seeded. It's about linguistics. We can't take the risk of doing it wrong.”

“Fucking-” Dean bangs his hands against the wall again. The result is the same as before - his hands hurt and he wants to kill something.

“You’ve done it before,” Castiel repeats.

“Yeah, because I had to!”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Not because I wanted to,” Dean adds in a whisper. “You should know that, since you’ve apparently been in every single atom of my fucking brain.”

Cas looks down. He hesitantly walks closer to Dean. His cheeks are pink and he looks almost embarrassed that his poking around in Dean’s brain has lead to such a mistake.

“I’m sorry. I - I didn’t know that. That part of your life is… it wasn’t clear. Your memories were hazy. What I saw wasn’t-”

“It's ‘cause I don’t wanna remember.”

Cas creases his eyes and tilts his head. Dean stares at the wall, like his glare is going to somehow dig a hole through it.

“I needed money. Dad was gone, Sam was - I was hustling pool and poker, and dudes offered some extra. I needed it. That’s what it was.”

“That’s prostitution,” Cas frowns.

“Yeah.” Dean kicks at a rock on the floor, still unable to make it move. His toe hurts.

“But… but you liked it.” Cas' eyes are lost somewhere between him and Dean. “Some part of it, at least, that was very clear in your-”

“Why the fuck - you think I liked getting fucked in the ass by random dudes in-” Dean can’t even finish his sentence. 

“Yes,” Cas says. “You did. Your neuronal connections were very clear on that-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Dean.”

“No. No, you know _nothing_ , alright?”

“I-” Cas' frown deepens. It’s not judgement. Just pure, simple confusion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Fuck you,” Dean growls. “Those were my fucking memories.”

“I’m really sorry." 

He's sincere, Dean knows that. Still a dick, though.

“I didn’t become a whore because I liked it. I didn’t. I’m not gay.”

 _I'm not gay_ , Dean repeats to himself, like it's going to make it true.

He's not gay, but maybe he liked it anyway. Maybe he needed the money or maybe he just wanted the money. Maybe sometimes he hated it but he still did it, maybe sometimes he didn’t need to do it but he still did it. Maybe sometimes he just needed an excuse, maybe, maybe it wasn’t always his choice, but maybe sometimes it was.

Then it stopped and he never thought about it again. Never.

“I know,” Cas says, low. “I apologize.”

“I-”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeats. “I really am. I should not have assumed.”

Dean believes him. He blinks and breathes deeply, feeling himself surrender. He doesn't have a choice.

Saving people. That's what matters. He doesn't want Cas to die, he doesn't want Sam to die because he was too chickenshit to - to do something he'd already done.

He walks around Cas and to the bed in the centre of the cave. It’s not just a stone altar anymore. There’s a mattress and beddings that appeared somewhere between the stumbling down of boulders and now. Dean touches the covers. They’re soft. Luxurious.

“Are you sure there’s no other way?" he asks one last time. "That this town - that people are gonna die if we don’t?”

“You might be right, we could bet on Sam, if he does realize that we’re missing and somehow finds a way to get us out in the next two hours. But he's not expecting us back soon, and had no idea what we were dealing with when we left him.”

“So we got no choice. If we don’t do this, people die.”

“There’s a very high chance, yes.”

Dean takes a few, staggering breaths.

“Fine.”

Castiel doesn’t move or reply behind him.

“I said _fine_.”

Finally, a rustle.

“Are you-”

“Yeah. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

 

Dean begins to shed his clothes with shaky fingers. His back is turned to Cas. He hears the rustle of Cas’ coat, the soft flop of it against the floor.

Dean sheds his outer layers - jacket, flannel, t-shirt. Then his pants. Shit. He’s starting to sweat, and shake, and having a hard time taking off his boots.

“Let me.”

“No," Dean cuts, roughly. "No, just-” He gestures for Cas to stay away without looking at him. He can't.

He finally manages to unlace them and take them off. His socks follow. Castiel sits behind him on the bed. Close - so close. The mattress dips under his weight and it sends chills through Dean. Cas has taken his pants off too, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. It hits Dean all over again.

Cas is getting naked, right next to him. Cas is getting ready to touch him. Ready to - fuck. Dean can't think about it because if he thinks about it then - no. No thinking. Just doing and getting it over with. 

Cas' hands rest on Dean’s hips and Dean closes his eyes. A warmth breathes tickles the back of his neck.

“Can I touch you?”

“Uh. You can just - can you - are you -”

 _Just do it_ , Dean wants to say, finding it hard to breathe. _Get this over with_.

“I can’t do that.”

“Stop reading my fucking thoughts.”

“They’re very loud," Castiel says, sounding a little annoyed. "And this place makes things very clear. It’s hard not to.”

“Try harder.”

Dean hears him sigh and pictures the way he's probably rolling his eyes. His heart clenches painfully.

“We both need to orgasm," Cas explains. "So you need to get erect, too. Foreplay would be indicated. I don't want to hurt you.”

“Like we’re ever gonna fucking recover from this,” Dean mumbles.

Cas doesn't answer and scoots even closer. Dean can feel his warmth against his back, his skin just a few inches away. His thumb trace circles on his hips. His mouth presses a kiss on his neck.

Dean forces himself to keep breathing.

Fingers sneak down, down, until a palm presses down between his legs. Dean bites a moan in his lips, shifts imperceptibly against Cas. Castiel’s other hand digs further in his waist, keeping him still.

More soft, too soft lips on the curve of his shoulder, where his shirt opens, skin vulnerable.

“Cas. You don’t-”

Castiel's breath is so warm. His nose brushes in the bristle hair on Dean’s neck.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you asking me to stop?”

The answer should be evident. _Yes_. But Castiel isn’t kissing his neck anymore. And if Dean says yes, he won’t start again. Ever. And it’s not like - they’re already here, aren’t they? Cas’ hand is on his cock. How much worse can it get?

“No.”

Dean could swear that Cas’ lips are stretched into a smile as they press onto his skin again. Cas doesn’t comment on how fast Dean gets hard against his palm, on how he pushes back against it until Cas gives him more pressure, more friction. He says nothing of the sounds Dean desperately stifles deep down his throat, that Cas must be able to hear anyway. He nibbles the side of Dean’s neck and encourages him to move his hips.

Dean shouldn’t like this. He shouldn’t enjoy this at all, rutting up against his best friend's hand. He shouldn’t like this, shouldn't feel this shiver, warm and sparkling, run underneath his skin wherever Castiel touches him.

He shouldn’t be so scared of looking down. And when he does, when he watches Castiel’s sinfully long fingers slide past the waistband of his underwear and feels them wrapping around his cock, he shouldn’t twitch, shouldn’t feel precum leak down his length. It shouldn’t ache inside of him how good it feels when Castiel’s other palm strokes under his shirt and up his chest, when it brushes over his nipples and grips hard at his shoulder to press his back flush on Cas' chest.

But it does. It does, it aches and it hurts and it feels fucking incredible. This time Dean's moan escapes before he can bite it back. His hand clutches on Castiel’s knee, his body leans back against Cas, who supports his weight, who lets him, who holds him. Who presses hot, wet kisses on his neck and shoulders, all the way up his jaw as Dean turns his head and lets him.

He thrusts up in Cas’ fist, groans. His cock is wet now, and it slips and slides easily. Cas frees it from his underwear, allowing for better movement, and Dean pants, grinding faster. He can feel how hard Cas is against his ass and that - fuck. His body is reeling with it, with this feeling, with him.

Dean wants him.

This is so wrong, how much he wants him.

It was never supposed to happen like this.

“C’mon.”

He forces himself to move away from Cas’ embrace and crawls on his hands and knees. He shoves his underwear down all the way, and he should hate this feeling of exposing himself, but he doesn't.

Doesn't matter anyway. Doesn't matter if he likes it or not. The result will be the same.

It’s over, for him and Cas. For him and his angel and their profound bond, his best friend in the whole fucking world. It’s over. Cas is just gonna be another guy who fucked him. He’s just gonna be another guy Dean got fucked by because he had to.

Because maybe he wanted to.

It was over the moment they stepped into this fucking cave, so it’s too late to mourn it now. Dean lets his head hang low, tilts his hips up. There’s a beat during which nothing happens, and then Cas' palm is warm on the skin of Dean’s ass. He strokes. Let his fingers run along the dip of his back. Circles with his thumb in the flesh.

“C’mon,” Dean repeats.

“Lay down,” Cas gently says.

“Believe me, it’s easier and faster if I’m-”

“I haven’t even begun to prepare you-”

How does Cas even know he should?

“Can’t you just use your grace or something?”

The silence stretches a little too long between them.

“No. Lay down, Dean.”

Dean can’t ignore such a direct order. The faster he obeys, the faster they get out of here. He lowers himself until his nose is snuggled in the sheets, until his belly lies flat on the mattress. The bed is soft. He parts his legs, resting his head on his forearms.

Cas keeps touching him. All over. Taking his sweet fucking time, as if-

As if there's any point to him touching Dean like this, as if it means anything, as if they're not both about to do something they don't wanna do and that will destroy everything they have. 

Cas' hands are warm and soft, tracing his curves like he's a rare, delicate thing, and Dean shouldn't like it, because there is no  _if_ , there's just this, and it's wrong. It's wrong but Dean still wants it, somehow, wants to feel everything Cas will allow, everything Cas will give.

Castiel's weight settles between Dean’s legs. His thighs are a soft, a bare heat against Dean’s.

“I know it’s unfair,” Castiel murmurs, slowly, as he keeps stroking Dean's skin, “that I can hear some of your thoughts, but you can hear none of mine.”

It's true, but Dean doesn't care anymore. There's no point to it. Everything he cares about keeps getting destroyed. Might as well enjoy what he gets given instead. 

“Would you like to know what I am thinking about right now?”

Dean shrugs.

“Sure.”

Castiel’s body covers his own. Warmth on warmth. Hot lips press on his skin.

“I’m thinking about... how much I want to kiss you."

Dean shudders. He misheard, surely.

"How much I want to taste of you. How blinded, yet fortified, I am, by everything you are. How much I long to taste every mark on your skin, trace back the paths I drew myself as I rebuilt you."

Breathing is such a simple, basic thing, but it feels impossible right now.

“I, uh.” Dean’s face is still hidden in his arms. He buries it further into the comforter. His shoulders are going to start shaking if he tries a reply longer than a few words. “Don’t think we have time for that.”

“Probably not,” Cas murmurs.

 

Dean has died several hundred times. He doesn’t remember most of them, but he remembers enough. At least a dozen. He remembers _dying_ a dozen time. He also remembers almost dying, coming very, very close to it, several thousand times. Almost every day for most of his life.

Dean has had enough real death and near death experiences that he should be used to being shocked, to being hit and being hurt and being so scared he can’t think, can’t breathe. He shouldn’t react to panic and novelty by freezing, by his heart beating so loud and his whole body numbing, this loud ringing in his ears and his vision going blurry. By his chest hurting and hurting and hurting.

But when Castiel says those things to him, that’s what happens.

Dying is easier. Dying is much less scary than this. Dying, Dean knows. Dying, he can come back from. Dying doesn’t matter anyway.

But Cas does. Everything about Cas matters so much and now it's going to be ruined and there's no coming back from that.

 

The sting from Castiel’s teeth bring him back to their unfortunate reality. Dean breathes. He tries to feel again, to focus, somehow. He just can’t think, he can’t think about it. It didn’t happen. He dreamed it. Cas didn’t say those things. They’re in the den of a god, and Dean is hallucinating.

Nothing is real. Unfeel and unthink. That’s how he gets through this.

Castiel’s hands are warm and broad on his skin. It feels a lot. And it feels very good. It’s not cold in here, Dean isn’t cold by any account, but he feels heated by that touch.

Castiel kisses the back of his thighs. He bites. It’s - Dean’s fingers wrap around the silky comforter. Grips. Hard. Castiel trails kisses and bites all the way up his legs. He shouldn’t. It’s soft. His hands are soft, as they part, and expose, and it’s - it’s filthy, and it’s soft, and it’s gentle, and it’s wrong.

“Cas-”

Dean’s protest morphs into a whine as heated air puffs on his rim. Oh, fuck.

“Do you not like this?” Castiel asks. His lips brush against Dean's - there - and it's hard to think.

“I - that’s not - you just - you don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Dean breathes out. His heart is beating out of his chest. What is he doing? What is happening?

“Okay,” he says.

Dean said yes, he said okay, but Jesus, it’s _Cas_ , and Cas does things his way, apparently, and Dean is way, way past the point of protest. He’s letting this happen and hopefully it’s just… just a dream. Wouldn't be the first one.

A dream where Cas’ tongue swirls on his - _oh_. Do angels even know how to-? Apparently they fucking do. He licks, broad, laps at Dean’s entrance. Filthy sounds fill the air. Everything is so clear, crystal clear in this fucking cave, and Dean can hear every sound as Cas sucks and kisses and - he makes sounds too, obviously.

Face buried in the sheets, fists whitening, desperately trying not to fuck himself back on Cas’ tongue, he whimpers and whines and moans. Who knew that fucking angel could do that, do it this good, this fucking good, and Jesus, Dean almost forgets what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. He just wants more, more of that scruff burning between his cheeks, more of that tongue thrusting deeper and deeper inside of him.

He grips the sheets. He would move back against Cas if he had any room to, if Cas didn’t push his mouth against him with all the sheer strength he possesses, if he wasn’t fucking him with his tongue like his life depended on it.

(It kind of does.)

Dean wraps a hand around himself, catching with his thumb the long string of precum that has already started to wet the sheets under him. Heat coils in his stomach, his cock twitches, he moans, guttural. Cas' hands are tight like vice grips around his hips, and Dean dreams of the bruises they’re gonna leave.

For a few blissful seconds all he can think of is the pleasure about to crash.

And then nothing. Dean strokes himself in frustration, but nothing comes out of it - pleasure tethering on the edge, so close, so fucking close, but not quite there.

“What the hell, dude?”

“I’m sorry, but we have to orgasm together. While I - while we’re… united.”

Reality seeps back into Dean’s body. He grips the sheets again. Opens his eyes, blinks, focusing on the stone walls and the eery, yellow light surrounding them. Shit. Right. This is where he is. In a fucking cave, up a fucking mountain, with -

His chest constricts so tight he stops breathing.

“Dean?”

Hesitating fingers up his spine.

“You used your grace?” he finally manages to articulate.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I had no choice.”

“‘S fine.”

It’s not. Not really. None of this is fine.

“Do you want to keep-?”

No. Of course not, not like this, not here.

“Yeah. C’mon.”

Dean groans when Cas wiggles a finger around his rim. It slides in easily. He doesn’t ask where the hell Cas got lube, or where he learned to touch like this. He just tries, and fails, not to picture his hands on him.

Not to picture his fingers, which Dean knows so well, but never thinks about. He doesn’t think about how they feel when they brush against his own, when they wrap around his arm, when they grip on his shoulder. He doesn’t ever think about their long elegance, their delicate strength, the incredible power they hold. He doesn’t think about how they’d feel if they really touched him. Held him.

He doesn’t think about that, not ever, but now, now Castiel’s hands are on him - inside of him - creating a drag that shakes him to his core, and God, Dean is too weak to not think about them anymore.

So he does. Hands, fingers, holy fingers inside of him, a divine stretch, a barely there stroke at his prostate that has him crumbling. Castiel’s other hand is firmly gripped on his hip, keeping him grounded. It’s a good thing that Dean can’t come, because he would. He could, just from this.

 _Because you’ve done it before. And you enjoy it_.

Castiel was right, of course. He likes this. Soon two fingers aren’t enough and Dean growls as a third adds to the delicious feeling. He doesn’t just enjoy it. He loves it. He fucking craves it, this fullness, this feeling - this vulnerability. But he can’t.

He can’t like this, he can’t want this, so he doesn’t, except when he has to, when he has no choice, and now, now he has no choice, and it’s...  And maybe, if he could have chosen anyone else to do this with, anyone else to see him like this, anyone else, besides Cas, he would have. He would have sold himself back to all those who’ve touched him before to avoid having Cas do this to him.

To avoid losing Cas to this. Like this. Here, because he has to, here, because he’s forced to. This was never supposed to happen to them.

But it did.

Dean crumbles. He’s boneless, lax, fucks himself back lazily on Cas’ fingers. Who cares anymore. Who the fuck cares.

“Do you like that?”

“What does it look like?” Dean growls, biting in his wrist. His whimpers are stifled but still very audible. Cas caresses his hip, his lower back, his thigh.

“You’re beautiful."

“Shut up.”

Cas keeps touching him, more careful.

“I mean it, Dean. You have no idea how beautiful you-”

“Shut up. ‘m ready. C’mon.”

“Can I - can you turn around?”

Dean’s heart stops.

“Why?”

“I’d… I’d like to see you, when we…”

“No. No, Cas. C’mon. That’s - weird. Just-”

Dean can almost feel the sadness seeping from the angel behind him. But he can’t. They can’t.

Dean holds his breath as the head of Castiel’s cock presses against his rim. It’s overwhelming. So overwhelming, his heart beats against his throat, he’s afraid he might lose consciousness.

That’s - that’s Cas’ cock . He’s hard, somehow, because he likes this, or because he has to, and they’re - fuck. The pressure is too much and too good all at once. It’s slow but steady, until Dean pleads - “stop, stop, stop-” and Cas stills, worried.

“Just gimme a minute,” Dean murmurs.

His hand has shot up, wrapped around Cas’ wrist, who's holding him at the waist. He squeezes. He’s panting, breathing laborate.

“Fuck. Fuck .”

Dean hears Castiel groan when his body clenches around him, trying to get used to the fullness inside. Cas’ fingers stroke his sides. He’s inside of him. This has all gone to fucking shit, Dean keeps thinking. He’s back on his fucking knees, but it’s Cas, it’s Cas who’s behind him, it’s Cas who’s inside of him. It’s Cas and he’s soft , it’s Cas and he’s sad because Dean won’t kiss him, it’s Cas and he wants something and Dean can’t let him have it.

It’s Cas and he wants but he - he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand. It’s Cas, though. It’s Cas.

“Move.”

Cas slides the last inch in. Dean groans. _Fuck_. The drag out is slow, and Cas lets out a moan at the next thrust in.

He’s big. Fucking thing was well-hidden in those loose slacks, and fuck, fuck, that virgin angel knows how to fucking use it. Dean’s mind is leaving the outer bounds of his body.

He fucks himself back, his cries lost in the sheets. He loves how tight Cas is gripping him. His heart soars with the hope that bruises will remain in his skin. When Cas leaves again, like he always does, Dean’ll have that. At least.

Skin slaps against skin, Dean’s body rocks back and forth on the bed. His knees hurt, so do his shoulders, not that he cares right now. He tightens around Cas’ length as it drags inside of him, the sensation is delicious and sends shivers through his whole body. He would have come, untouched, ten times already if Cas’ grace didn’t keep him on the edge. Cas groans, deep, primal, every time Dean pulls him in deeper.

“Like that?” Dean pants, because pleasure loosens his mouth, and he'd like to know. If his angel is as dirty as he is. “You like fucking me?”

Cas’ movements stop. His fingers dig deeper in Dean’s skin, his nails hurt. Dean would keep moving, but Cas’ grip is steel.

“I-”

Castiel moves down. His stomach presses on Dean’s back. His arms encase Dean’s chest, his mouth moves against his shoulder.

“I like being with you,” he murmurs. “I like touching you.”

“And fucking me,” Dean grits through his teeth.

“If it’s all I’m allowed to do.”

Dean closes his eyes so tight it hurts. His arms shake under the weight of the angel.

Cas moves again, too close, too present. Too slow. Dean’s body dips further into the bed and Cas follows, pressing him down. Hand part Dean’s legs so he can move in between, pressing him down against the bedspread. The roll of his hips is slow again. His right hand find Dean’s, lacing their fingers. His lips devour his skin. His body rocks inside of him, unrelenting.

Tears prickle on the corner of Dean’s eyes. He clutches Cas’ hand, so tight it would hurt if he wasn’t a billion years old celestial entity.

Cas is getting close, Dean can feel it. His body is tensing up, his rhythm accelerating. He’s nailing Dean’s prostate on a near perfect angle now, and tears are wetting the sheets against Dean’s face from how good this feels. He prays, prays to anything and anyone except Castiel that the moment lasts just a little longer.

“Turn around,” Cas murmurs. His breathing is short.

“Cas-”

“Please.”

“No.”

Cas grips him, flips him like Dean's resistance is no weight at all. It’s effortless. Dean closes his eyes. Warm, warm hands on his cheeks. Lips hover above his.

“Dean.”

Dean looks to the side, to Cas’ arm, to the wall.

“We can’t do that,” he murmurs, like a justification.

“I can,” Cas replies.

Perfect lips kiss Dean’s cheek. His jaw. His neck. It’s warm, and soft, and wet, and Dean wants to cry.

He sobs when Cas slides back inside of him. His body arches, takes him greedily. He moves with him, grinds against him. His thighs wrap around Castiel’s waist, and Cas grips his hip again, pulling him in tight, and there they go, thrusting against the bed.

Dean shouldn’t look, shouldn’t look at Castiel’s gorgeous lips above his own, shouldn’t look at his eyes - like lightning through his body, scorching under his skin, through his bones, to the sole of his feet. He sinks his fingers in Cas’ hair, pulls him closer, until Cas is nosing at his neck, until their bodies are pressed flush and move as one. He can’t look anymore, so he buries his face in Cas’ shoulder instead, he inhales his scent of after the rain, before a storm, he sinks his teeth in the soft skin of his shoulder.

His entire body sings. Cas’ breathing comes out short, erratic.

Suddenly whatever held Dean back is gone, his pleasure soaring at the new lack of bounds. Thunder rolls into the small cave, lightning illuminates everything blue and large wings crash against the walls.

Dean feels Castiel’s orgasm as well as he sees it, and he comes with his breath punched out, scream stifled into Cas’ skin, fingers clawing into Cas’ back. The pleasure blinds him, tears through him, he feels it tear through Cas too, feels Castiel’s pleasure heightened tenfolds by his own. He hears his own name in the angel’s heart, in his grace. He feels it all, and it’s so overwhelming his body shakes with it, out of control, his mind splits, and then nothing.

 

Dean comes back to his senses shaking on the stone altar, covered in his own pleasure. He hears screams  - Cas, screaming, naked. The god has appeared, hungry, angry, ready to collect, and this is when they’re meant to fight.

Cas has jumped to his feet, gloriously naked, angel blade in his hand. Dean wants to help, wants to grab his gun and shoot and help, but he can’t move.

He watches Cas get thrown against the wall, almost be impaled and slip away, manage to get his hands on the god’s head and smoke him out.

The last thing Dean sees is his brother climbing into the cave and the look of horror on his face when his gaze falls upon the scene.

 

Dean wakes up in the shower, blinking against the water streaming down his face. Castiel’s arms are around him, holding him up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dean asks, because Cas is naked, and he's naked, and it's over, and they're in a fucking motel room shower and this cannot be happening.

“You were covered in-” Cas seems to sense the tension in Dean’s body at the memories and pulls back a little. “You needed a shower. And Sam didn’t want to wash you.”

Dean puts a hand on the wall and manages to stand on his own. He pushes Cas away, one hand on his stomach. It’s warm. He didn’t know before, how warm Castiel is. Human, almost. But now he does. He’s warm, and very real, all bones and skin and muscles and other things, too, and it’s way too much. So Dean pushes him away.

“I can take it from here.”

He doesn’t look at Cas. He hasn’t looked him in the eyes, or near his face, or any very dangerous place, since -

He doesn’t look at the water sliding down Cas’ naked body. Doesn’t shrivel inside when he touches him for the last time.

Cas leaves after making sure that Dean can stand on his own. He doesn’t say anything.

Dean sits under the burning streams for a long time. He was right. There are bruises on his hips. Sears, almost. When Castiel came, his Grace, it - it almost burned through him. He has red marks on his shoulder, too, and the handprint- it had been faded for years, and now it's… it's back. And it hurts. Like it's just been burned into his skin again.

He feels like a demon was awoken inside of him. A dam broken. Cas broke him.  

And now he has to face his brother and explain to him how an angel almost fucked him to death.

He's not sure which is worse.

 

"Are you okay?”

Both Sam and Cas speak at the same time. Dean shoots them both a glare and then proceeds to ignore them and walk to his bed. “I'm fine. Let's pack our shit and go home.”

“I will let you two…. talk.”

Cas exits the room after exchanging a meaningful glance with Sam.

“What was that about?” Dean asks, gruff.

He still can't look at Sam. He knows Cas must have tried to explain. Sam saw. He found him. He - he knows. How much, well, that's - but he knows enough.

“Dean, are you really okay?”

Dean angrily shoves clothes back into his bag. He can hear in his brother’s voice that Sam knows much more than he should.

“Cas said we didn't have a choice.”

Like blaming Cas for everything is the answer. Dean closes his eyes, breathes. Cas  _was_ the one who pushed for it. Not that he was wrong - not that Dean was ready to sacrifice a whole town - but Cas kept pushing. Dean didn't want to. Not really. He would never want to do that.

“He wasn't wrong,” Sam says. “I was working on a spell, but who knows if it would be worked in time.”

Dean stops his movements. He wants to scream, possibly for several hours.

“How close were you?”

“I- not - not that close. I mean-”

“Sam.”

“it might not have worked, Dean.”

“Sonofabitch.”

Dean throws his bag across the room. Guns, clothes, everything hits the wall.

He grabs his keys.

 

The twelve hours drive has helped clear Dean’s mind. They did what they had to do. It was another sacrifice in the line of duty. That’s it.

Maybe they wouldn’t have needed to. But there was no way of knowing. Cas didn’t make a bad call. He’s an angel. He doesn’t - he doesn’t feel the way humans feel. It didn’t matter to him as much, whatever they had to do. And it was the right call. Ganking the thing, saving the people.

What was the wrong call was going into that cave in the first place, but that’s just what they do. They put themselves in these situation constantly. Overall, Dean’s just grateful it wasn’t him and Sam who got stuck in there. They’d all have died.

Sam and Castiel arrive at the bunker a few hours after Dean does. They stand in an awkward silence for a minute, until Castiel asks if he can stay for a while. Dean says what he always says, what he’s told Cas ten times already.

“‘S'your home too. Y’don’t needa ask.”

He doesn’t look at Cas, just standing there in his fucking trench coat. Dean doesn’t wonder if it smells like him. Like them. If the stench of his come still lingers or if Cas cleaned it with a snap of his fingers.

He probably did.

Cas is the one who always leaves.

“Dean even cleared you a bedroom,” Sam tells him after agreeing with Dean’s words. “Right next to his.”

Dean doesn’t look at either of them and leaves. He locks himself in his bedroom, and doesn’t hear Cas following.

 

Cas is still here. 

Which is weird. Because he always leaves. And when they called him for the case, he was on some sort of mission to fix Heaven, and he came to help, and was supposed to go back. And he hasn’t.

And it’s weird.

They’ve barely even said a word to each other since they’ve been back. Since Castiel wrapped a naked Dean in his trench coat and carried him back to the motel room.

Dean doesn’t want to think about it. He is _not_ thinking about it.

But now Cas is here. Still. He doesn’t sleep, so he doesn’t use his bed. He doesn’t have anything to do. He’s just - _here_. All the time. Reminder of the real fucked up thing that happened.

Reminder that nothing will ever be the fucking same.

Reminder that Dean can’t live behind a wall anymore, not as long as Cas is there. If he would only just leave, then Dean could breathe, maybe, he could start building it again, he could start living again.

 

It’s 4 a.m., and Dean’s making a PB&J.

“Dean.”

Dean doesn’t turn around or reply to Castiel's voice.

“I…”

But his sentence trails off and Dean is forced to acknowledge him, standing in kitchen doorway, looking sad. So fucking sad.

“You’re still here,” Dean finally says, because Cas isn’t talking anymore and the silence is unbearable.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dean turns around, wiping his knife on the edge of the peanut butter can. Cas frowns.

“You said this was my home, too.”

“Yeah. Said it before. Didn’t keep you from leaving.”

It sounds like an accusation. Maybe it is.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Dean scoffs. He slaters jelly on his sandwich. It splatters, droplets staining the counter.

“‘M fine. You didn’t-” _Your cock didn’t break me_ , he wants to say. “We did what we had to do. I’m fine. You can leave if you want to.”

“I never want to leave you.”

Dean’s chest hollows and caves on itself. He steadies his hands on the counter. Cas can’t say things like that. He can’t - not when -

But that’s just how Castiel talks, Dean remembers as he gets a grip on himself. That's just shit he says. Doesn't change anything.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not a choice, it’s-” Cas' brows are deeply furrowed now. “If I could be with-”

“I know,” Dean says, because he doesn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence. He can’t.

Cas has told him before - _I’d rather be here_ \- but that was a long time ago. He still leaves, always, often without saying goodbye. Even when Dean - even when they need him.

“You can stop worrying. I’m fine.”

Dean grabs his sandwich and walks around Cas without looking at him. He’s not hungry anymore when he reaches his room, and the sandwich ends up being thrown away.

 

Dean never wanted this. Never asked for this. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Especially not like _that_ \- but nevertheless, it was never supposed to happen.

He was never supposed to lay in his bed and touch the fading bruises on his skin. He was never supposed to ache with the memory of Castiel’s lips. Of his hands, of his-

He was never supposed to know how it felt. How _he_ felt. How it could be.

Ignorance was bliss. Of course Dean wondered, sometimes, when he was too tired to keep a tight leash on his thoughts. Of course, of course, a deeply hidden, far buried part of him yearned to know.

But Dean knew better than to ever indulge in those thoughts. Because there’s a huge gap between wondering, sometimes, late at night in a nameless motel, about what he might taste like, how it might feel. What he might say. There's a huge difference between all of that, and _knowing_. Knowing hurts. Knowing fucking destroys, it haunts, and it eats, and it rots, and Dean’s whole world is collapsing around him.

He had Cas. He had him, maybe not all of him - never all of him, no, Cas has always only been halfway here, halfway his - and maybe it wasn’t perfect, but Cas was his friend, his best friend. His angel. He always came when Dean called. He always gave him everything he had.

But now Dean knows, he knows about things he never should have known about, and it hurts, because he wants. He wants and he wants and he wants until it hurts, he wants for things that can never be.

He can’t even fucking look at Cas. Can’t stand in the same room, can’t breathe the same air. He can't exist around him knowing, crushed by the certainty that he's never going to feel it again, that's he's never going to get - not that he never really did. He got something that Cas was forced to give, and that was wrong.

Sometimes Dean wants to pray to him so badly it hurts. Sometimes he grabs at his own flesh and just pretends he can feel him again. He tries not to think his name, never lets it slip past his lips. But he's there in his mind, all the time.

Deep in the dead of night, when sleep still won't grace him with its presence, Dean thinks he should have kissed him.

 

“Dean.”

Dean is startled by the gentle knock on his door.

“Yea.”

He hasn’t been sleeping well. He dreams too much. Can’t fall asleep, because every time he starts slipping, all he can feel is-

Castiel’s eyes examine him, propped against his pillows and a worn-out book in his hands.

“You look awful.”

“Tryin’ to get in my pants again?”

It slips and Dean blushes. Those kind of comments were fine before, but now - even laced with as much sarcasm as this one was, they carry a weight that makes the air between them heavier.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, eager to get pas the moment.

“This is my home.”

“Done with your mission or whatever?”

Cas nods, slowly.

“For now. And I… I could feel you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your longing. Your… sadness.”

Shit.

“Thought I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”

Castiel looks small. He fidgets with his fingers, in a way so human Dean’s chest tightens.

“I am. It’s just, your feelings are very strong, and since - since the cave, I seem to be… more connected. To your emotions.”

Shit. Could things get any fucking worse?

“I’m not sad," Dean lies, because he has no other option left. "I’m not longing, or whatever. I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Dean’s eyes jump up to meet Castiel’s. They’re so blue. So big and blue and infinite and Dean’s heart hurts in his chest.

“I miss you," Cas says, like it's easy. "You’re my family. You mean so much to me, Dean, and now, it’s - it’s changed. You’re making that very clear.”

Guilt is a sour pang in Dean’s chest. It’s always fine when he’s the only one suffering. It’s _only_ fine when he’s the only one suffering.

“Cas-”

“My presence makes you uncomfortable. And I understand, what I did-”

Looking Cas in the eyes used to be so easy. Now Dean can’t hold his gaze for more than fraction of second.

“S’not what I said.”

“I may not be a master of human emotions but your disdain for me is pretty evident. You can’t even look at me.”

Dean closes his eyes.

“It’s complicated,” Dean says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know. And I’m… so sorry, Dean. It was my fault. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but-”

“Your fault?”

“I took advantage of you.”

Dean is speechless. He’s thought about it a lot. Pretty much all he's been doing for weeks. And yes, maybe Cas pushed. But Dean said yes.

“We had to do it.”

“Yes, that part is true. But… you asked me, repeatedly, to do things differently. To go faster. To use my grace. To not… touch you, as much.”

“You said…” Dean closes his eyes. His heart is pounding. “You said you couldn’t. You said it had to be like that.”

And it’s not like Cas didn’t ask, constantly, if it was okay. Dean always said yes. Because he thought there was no other way.

“I know. And I believed it. Or I - I wanted to. But…”

“But it could have been different?”

Dean knows how breathless he sounds. Could all of this been avoided? Or part of it? Why the fuck-

“Yes.”

Cas looks down. “I could have used my grace to… make you ready. Without having to-”

Dean puts his face in his hands. Cas’ lips on his neck. His tongue, in places it should never have been. Seeing things, tasting things, that neither of them can ever forget.

Dean said yes. Cas asked if it was okay and he said yes, but he had no idea-

“What are you saying, Cas? That it could’ve been over in two minutes, but that you lied to me because-?”

Dean has never seen the angel looking more ashamed. And he’s done a lot of stuff. Lot of bad, bad stuff.

“I couldn’t…” Cas lets out a shuddery breath. He swallows, it sounds dry. “Of all the ways I ever imagined - ever thought that we’d - using my grace to force pleasure out of you was never... I never imagined, either, that I would ever be touching you that way against your will. And I - I wanted to at least…” Cas shakes his head. He clears his throat, his voice coming out more steady. “I was misguided. I did what I thought was the right thing, when I should have listened to you. You were very clear and I didn't listen. I was blinded by my own desires, and I can never apologize enough for that.”

It’s a lot to take in. A lot of information to process. It could have been different. Dean could have not felt - he could not _know_ , right now.

But he does. Because Castiel wanted him to. Because Castiel wanted him.

Because Cas wanted to - shit. Fuck him. Cas wanted to fuck him.

_If that’s all I’m allowed to do._

“Thank you for hearing me. You don’t have to answer. I know it might take time, or might never… I understand.”

Dean opens his eyes to a flap of wings and an empty space where Cas used to be.

 

Everything hurts. Sam tells him it’s his fault. He’s not wrong. Dean threw himself into that hunt like it could make him forget.

It did not. It got him bruised ribs, fractured tibia, broken fingers.

And now all there is to do is lay in bed and think about the only one who can do something about this. But Cas isn’t - he’s not a fucking healing tool. Dean’s not going to call him here for that. He brought this on himself.

He should have known though. Cas shows up anyway, out of the blue a few nights later while Dean is doing what he’s been doing a lot of lately - sulking in bed.

“Dean.”

Dean groans.

“Sam called you?”

“Yes. But I was on my way home anyway. I can - I could feel it.” Dean tries to roll his eyes, but his head hurts, and his cheeks are burning. Jesus Christ, this fucking bond, can’t anything be private anymore? Not the color of his asshole or his bruised ribs, apparently. Fucking hell. “What happened?”

“S’fine. Bumps and bruises.”

Dean can barely crane his neck, but he can see that Cas looks a little bit pissed now.

“You were careless.”

Dean rolls his eyes for real this time, no matter how much it hurts.

“‘M fine.”

“You have to stop saying that,” Cas says softly. “When it’s clearly not the case.”

Dean closes his eyes. No, of course it’s not. But he can barely remember a time he was fine, ever, so this isn’t new. He can handle it.

Although it’s getting difficult when Cas steps closer. Dean wishes he hadn’t looked into his eyes that night. When he - he saw something that just… wasn’t right. And the overwhelming guilt swirling through the blue now isn’t right either.

There were things that Cas should have done differently. But there are a million things Dean should have done differently, too. Things he could be doing, right now, if he wasn’t such a coward.

“Let me heal you?”

Castiel waits, at a safe distance, until Dean nods. He approaches slowly and raises his hand to his forehead with a question. Dean nods again.

When the two fingers press on his forehead and take away the pain, Dean can’t help but wish it was Castiel’s palm instead. He wishes, for a second, that Cas would take the time to touch all the places he’s been hurt. Heal them one by one. With his mouth. Not that that’s - neither here nor there. Well. Maybe it’s a little bit there.

Castiel moves away as soon as it’s done. His mouth quirks a little bit at Dean’s relieved groan, as he pushes himself up, rubs a hand behind his neck. The ache is gone. The physical one, that is.

Castiel’s eyes are still so full of pain and Dean feels broken all over again.

“I wanted it too.”

Dean’s mouth moves on its own, his voice comes out, hoarse and unreal. But he’s speaking. Because Cas is about to leave - a few steps away from the door - and his shoulders hang low, and Dean doesn’t have a grace that can feel weird stuff in the air or whatever, but he’s not blind either. And the weight of Cas’ pain is so heavy between them he can’t let it go on.

“I know I said I didn't, but- you were right. About everything. About my past and my - my memories.”

Dean tries not to let the shame overcome him, keep him from saying what needs to be said. Castiel forced things out of him he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Maybe ever. And hell, he’s still struggling with it. A lot. But maybe it needed to be done.

And he let Cas do it. He said yes, because he wanted to. He really wanted to.

“If I hadn't wanted it then I wouldn't have let you do it. I would have let everyone die. I could have. And I… I didn't. We always get out of stuff like this. Always. I knew that. I… let you. I said yes.”

“I didn’t leave you much of a choice.”

“You didn’t force me. You could have. For Sam, for those people, you could have made me. But you didn’t. You didn’t even use your grace to… and I get it. I get why you did it, alright. I - it’s okay. I get it.”

Castiel doesn’t answer. His eyes are brimmed red, and Dean wonders if his lips have ever been so pink.

“So you can stop moping around and feeling guilty, it's fine.”

Cas nods, slowly, and offers Dean an almost smile.

“We're not ruined, you know,” he says after a minute of silence, of him just standing there looking… well. Happy. Almost. “What we had, it's not ruined.”

“Cas, you saw things that - we did something that… that’s not what friends do. Not like that. I mean look at us. This isn’t us. ”

“But it was me, Dean. I don’t… I don’t feel about you the way friends do. I never have. You’ve always been more than-”

“This isn’t what family does either. I don’t know what freaky kinky shit angels are into but-”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dean can’t look at him. He’s feeling things - goddamn fucking feelings - that he can’t even begin to address. It’s big, and it crushes his chest so hard he can’t breathe. And he knows that if he stretched out his hands right now, instead of fisting the comforter, they'd shake. He feels like if he says one more things, goes one step further with this, everything will fall apart.

It’s already started to.

“What we did did not change the way I feel about you,” Castiel says, and he moves closer, and Dean struggles to keep breathing, to keep existing. “It only makes it that much harder to be away from you. Having felt that… union, with you. Having touched you, that way. Being away from you has always felt wrong, but now it’s... pure torture.”

“You don't have to be,” Dean manages to whisper, and he’s proud to still be alive. To not having died yet, crushed by the weight of what he feels. “Away from me. Not - not on my account, anyway.”

Dean doesn’t know what he expected from that. What he hoped. He has no fucking idea what he’s feeling, only that it hurts, hurts, hurts in his chest and is only getting worse every second that Castiel is just standing there saying nothing.

“Dean, I-”

“S’okay,” Dean croaks out, and he’s not crying, no, he’s absolutely not crying, and the thought of Castiel not coming closer, not touching him again - never again, maybe - doesn’t feel like the entire bunker has collapsed on top him. “You can leave. I get it.”

“I don’t want to,” Castiel says, and yeah, they’ve established that - Castiel never wants to leave - but he does it anyway. That’s how it works. And nothing Dean can do or say changes it. Apparently. His eyes fly open when he feels the mattress dip - he instinctively pulls up his legs, even though Castiel isn’t even close to touching him.

But he’s looking. Looking at Dean with eyes so soft and sad and full of… things.

“I don’t know how you feel. What you want, from me. And I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

Of taking without explicit permission. Of touching and making Dean angry again.

Dean wants to say it. Wants to give it. Wants to - but he can’t, and he has no idea why, he doesn’t know, fuck, he has no idea what he wants from Cas, why this isn’t easy, why it’s so fucking painful he can’t be here, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

He just wants Cas to know. He wants Cas to feel what he feels so he can fucking tell Dean what the hell is going on.

“Read my thoughts.”

Castiel frowns at him and he’s so fucking-

“I don’t want to overstep, Dean. You can just tell me. It’s okay.”

“No, um. I can’t. ‘Cause I don’t know. I don’t know what - I don’t know. So you have to tell me.”

“You want me to tell you how you feel?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Slowly, Castiel scoots closer to the middle of the bed. Dean watches him approach precariously. It makes his heart beat faster, shivers run under his skin, and fuck his throat is so tight he keeps thinking the air will just stop passing through. He can’t breathe in deep, just shallow, shallow, shallow, and it makes him dizzy.

“Are you sure?”

Dean nods. Because if someone doesn’t help him figure out what the fuck is going on, he probably won’t make it.

This time Castiel’s whole palm touches his face. Just presses, gently, on his cheek, and something in Dean instantly lets go. He closes his eyes and leans into it, chases the feeling of Castiel’s thumb gentle on his cheekbone. He breathes a little deeper, the ache inside of him loosens infinitely.

“Oh,” Cas murmurs.

“What?”

Cas’ eyes are cast downwards, he’s frowning, and breathing a little faster. Then his gaze jump up to meet Dean’s, and they’re so full of tenderness Dean feels the ground shifting underneath him.

“You’re scared,” Cas murmurs. “You’re… you’re terrified.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. But Dean Winchester doesn’t _feel_ like this when he’s scared. Fear makes him move, fear makes him act, fear clears his head and he’s so used to it that -

“You’re paralyzed. You’re so scared that you… oh.”

Dean can see it every time Castiel catches something new - a new thought, a new idea, buried so deep under the soul crushing fears.

“You’ve never been scared like this before. That’s why you don’t understand how you feel. You’re completely paralyzed by it.”

Castiel’s hand is still around his cheek, and his thigh is pressed on Dean’s side, leg folded while his other one hangs on the side of the bed. His other hand is right there, right there on the comforter next to Dean’s but he can’t move. Can’t reach out.

He can only blink, and realize that his eyes are wet, and think _why? why Cas I don’t understand, I don’t, I-_

“You’re scared of losing me.”

“I already lost you,” Dean counters before he can stop himself.

“You haven’t, Dean. I’m right here.”

_I lost you so many times. I lost you so many times and I can’t-_

“And I came back. Always.” Cas forces Dean to look him in the eyes, and Dean almost doesn’t make it. Finally his fingers move and grasp on Cas' sleeve. “There is nothing that can keep me from returning to you. Not in this world, and not in any other.”

Castiel’s hand is soft on his neck, the other one grabbing right back where Dean is holding him.

_Do you promise?_

Castiel goes soft again, and his warmth is right there, right there, right there.

“I promise. I love you.”

Just when Dean thought he was breathing better, he gets crushed all over again. It feels different, but it’s no less breathtaking.

“I love you more than anyone has ever loved anything in the story of the world.”

Dean is the one to close the last of the distance between them. Well, he pulls on Cas until it’s gone, and he kisses him, and only when he feels the softness of Castiel’s mouth does he realizes it’s their first one. Their first kiss. He felt Castiel’s lips all over his body but never against his own, never got to feel the way Castiel’s fingers curl around his jaw, the way his weight is both light and all bearing against his own.

He lets a pained sound fall from his lips when Cas pulls away.

“See?” Cas smiles, and it’s fucking radiant, and Dean feels warm all over, “the world did not crumble. We’re still here. I’m still here.”

 

Their legs brush under the covers. Castiel doesn’t sleep, but Dean asked anyway, and was rewarded by the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. And he’d seen Cas smile before, on rare occasions, like rainbows after a storm. But this smile outran all the others by miles, and Dean feels so light when Castiel moves closer, facing him in the bed in a borrowed t-shirt and flannel pants, that he’s scared he’ll just start lifting from the bed and onto the ceiling.

Cas’ arm is firm around his waist, his thighs are warm, his nose brushes on Dean’s chin. Dean kisses him between the eyebrows - how many times has he wished he could ease the crease that found a home there? Now he can. And it’s gone. It’s gone and Cas’ cheeks are pink, and there’s a smile in his eyes and on his lips.

Dean knows with absolute certainty that he will never, ever tire of the slow press of Castiel’s mouth against his own.

After all this is what he’s good at - this is how he speaks, how he says things. And he's saying a lot of things to Cas right now.

But there are things he wishes he actually tell Cas now that the terror has left his chest, now that everything almost feels right.

“Cas. You should read my mind again."

He leans into the touch of Castiel’s hand on his cheek, and in return he kisses him, his lips, his nose, his cheek.

He knows the moments his thoughts become clear - clearer than they’ve ever been. There is one single thing on his mind right now and it’s making Castiel’s eyes shine so bright, and his cheeks get so warm. So Dean keeps thinking it over and over again, until he can feel the whole room filled by it.

_I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you._

And Dean could swear he hears Castiel think it right back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr [here (writing blog)](http://casbeanwrites.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://casbean.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> reblog this story on tumblr [here](http://casbeanwrites.tumblr.com/post/182814301723/pairing-dean-winchestercastiel-rating-explicit)


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